


five-day bender // no surrender

by musiclily88



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Hipster Harry, M/M, Oral Sex, Punk Louis, Punk Rock, Rough Oral Sex, Thighs, douche Zayn, lovey niall, thigh fucking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:24:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4830695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' a bit punk rock, sure, but he's not immune to pretty boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five-day bender // no surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired.
> 
> This isn't based on anyone real. It was written based on the public personas of private people, set in a PUNK ROCK SETTING. Don't share it with anyone related to 1D, please!

No Surrender // Five-Day Bender

 

They’re kind of shit. Louis knows that. While Liam sings with all the passion and intensity of a sailor fucking during shore leave, Louis himself only learned to play the bass because their band needed a bassist. Given his druthers, he’d rather just spew filthy curses into a mic and bang a cymbal with one fist. Except Niall’s their drummer, because he’s the only one who can keep a beat, and Liam is their lead guitarist because he’s got frankly massive hands and can actually play like maybe he gives a shit. That leaves Louis on the bass.

They don’t have a keyboardist because this isn’t a fucking joke to them. No. It’s fucking _punk._

But. Having said that. Even though it’s not a _joke_ it’s not like they’re professionals. It’s not like they’re famous, thank Christ. They just play in pubs and perform in small street festivals, grungey little spots that pay crap but offer them free beer.

All in all, it’s not a glamorous life, but it suits them fine.

They’re tuning up for a late-night show at Spanner—divey just like Louis likes—when Liam snorts lightly, rolling his eyes without subtlety. Louis follows his eyeline and nearly bursts into raucous laughter. There’s an overgrown—overblown?—manchild perched on a barstool, sipping on an electric-green concoction, wavy hair falling messily about his face. His trousers look like leather, his button-up is sheer black and barely fastened, and his eyes are bright and glassy. He’s ridiculous. He’s gorgeous.

He’s totally out of place.

Realistically, Spanner is only one step up from a barn with a sawdust-covered floor. The bar-top is always sticky, the toilets never have loo roll, the booths are mostly ripped and taped back together. It’s really a place for people to listen to _music,_ where the stage is the showcase and everything else is secondary.

This kid looks to be wearing, like, Burberry or Gucci, plus he’s sitting all alone, and his drink is fucking _green._ He’s not here to listen to punks screaming. Louis is four beers deep and the whole situation is absolutely hilarious. Therefore, Louis must confront it.

He sets his bass down and hops off stage, pretending to order another pint. Well, he does order another pint, actually, but it’s not why he sauntered over to the bar. As the bartender fetches more beer from the back room, the bloke in question spins slowly around to look at Louis. He’s grinning wildly, and he looks a bit manic. Louis thinks he might have made an error. This kid could be certifiable. Louis doesn’t have time for insanity, fuck, he’s got music to perform.

“Hi,” the guy says, voice drawling and thick as molasses. “When do you guys go on, then?”

“Eleven or so.”

“Or so?”

“Too much precision isn’t very punk rock, is it,” Louis responds with a shrug. “You here for the show eh?”

The guy takes a languid sip from his disgusting-looking drink. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I’m here with a mate who’s here to see the show. Except he’s abandoned me to suck face with a pretty blonde girl,” the bloke adds, a look of distaste flickering across his face.

“What? Pretty blonde girls not your type, then?” Louis asks, laying the amusement on a tad too thick.

“Girls?” An eyebrow raise accompanies this. “Not as such. Pretty blonds are all well and good, I suppose.” He gives Louis a once-over. “Just partial to brunets, is all.”

Louis chuckles. “Oh, you are something else, aren’t you.”

“Am I? What makes you say that?”

“You just don’t look like you belong here. That’s all.” The bartender returns, interrupting the banter. Ah well. That’s the way of things.

“And where do I belong, then?”

Louis tries not to rise to the bait, but it’s too easy. So bloody easy. He leans in to murmur, “On your knees.”

He spins to walk away. He stubbornly doesn’t look back to see the effect his words have, but he hears enough spluttering to see he probably made an impression.

 

So. While Louis knows their band is a bit shit, he also knows that musicians can usually pull pretty much anyone they want. And Louis fucking _wants._

 

They go on just after eleven, with a reputation to protect, and Louis loves nothing more than screaming obscenities at strangers while surrounded by his closest friends. Well, it’s easily top five. He and Liam alternate singing lead, and half the time they’re accompanied by Niall laughing loudly into his microphone. They’re a finely honed machine, they are.

They sing about fucking randoms in a local park, about getting into bloody fistfights, about political unrest, about getting drunk and rowdy. Common fare done uncommonly well, Louis likes to tell himself.

They take a five-minute break so Louis and Liam can smoke outside while Niall collects three more pints for them. As he steps back inside Spanner, he catches Curly’s gaze and winks. Curly flushes but smirks in return. 

Louis then pointedly looks away, watches Liam pick Sophia up and spin her around while she drunkenly giggles. Niall looks on indulgently, because he has some weird obsession with people in love, despite being told it’s creepy.

The second half of their set is even louder than the first, since more people have shown up at the pub eager to join the din. Louis pours beer on a bloke just in front of the stage, laughing a bit when the guy opens his mouth to try to drink it. The guy moves away when Louis threatens to bottle him, even though they both know Louis’ joking. Liam tosses a guitar pick into the crowd, managing to land it in some birds’ pint. Niall demands she chug it, and the whole pub begins chanting along with him. 

It’s a pretty good show.

By the time they’re finished, the pub is crowded. They break down their stuff and stick their instruments in the _dressing room,_ such as it is (it’s the back room of the bar, filled mostly by a huge fridge and cases of beer). Then they return to the crowd, Liam attaching himself to Sophia from the lips on down while Niall goes to, seemingly, chat up both a blonde girl and the wildly handsome guy hanging off her arm. His obsession with love is getting out of hand, Louis thinks.

So Louis returns to Curly, who’s replaced his green drink with something pink. It looks vile. Louis orders another pint and sighs dreamily. “So, Curly, what’s your deal?”

He shrugs. “Dunno how you mean.”

“Is the hair real? Or is it a wig?”

Curly rolls his eyes. “It’s real.”

“And the accent?”

“M’from Cheshire.”

“And? What do you do, besides drink neon drinks no self-respecting adults should touch?”

It’s Curly's turn to shrug. “I dabble.”

“You dabble.”

“Yep.” He pops the _p._

“Is that a bougie way of saying you faff about whilst working your way through a hefty trust fund?”

“No.” Curly’s eyebrows furrow. “Mostly I’m a writer.”

“Oh? What kind?”

“Fiction, non-fiction. Really terrible poetry that ought to be burned.” Curly grimaces.

“Takes a real man to admit that, I suppose.” Louis takes a sip of his beer. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Harry.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not really.”

Louis considers him. “I just find it hard to believe that someone with that much hair—” Louis brings up one finger to prod at a ringlet “—actually is named Harry. It’s kismet, it is.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy. What’s your name?”

“Louis. Friend didn’t get you all informed about what you were gonna see before you showed up?”

Harry shrugs. “Sometimes it’s nice to be surprised.”

That seals it. Louis nods once before reaching for Harry’s wrist, grasping it firmly. He yanks him away from the bar and towards the toilets, barreling into the disabled stall and locking the door. “Nice surprise?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Louis,” Harry says with a smile before ducking down—Christ, is he really that much taller than Louis is?—and pressing their mouths together. Hard.

Their lips immediately part and Louis snakes his hands around Harry’s midsection, pulling him closer, making Harry whine a bit. He cups the back of Louis’ neck and they melt into one another, self-satisfied and hot. Louis loses track of time.

They only separate to come up for air, lips bitten berry-red and their chests heaving. “God, you’ve got a pretty mouth,” Louis mutters, mentally berating himself for sounding a bit too _Deliverance._

But Harry doesn’t seem to care much. He simply pulls a wolfish smile and crowds against Louis, knocking him into the wall and pinning him in place. “The better to eat you with.”

It’s ridiculous. He’s gorgeous. Louis can’t move.

Literally, he can’t move. Harry has him pinned in place with his long arms and his intense eyes (they’re green like his vile drink was, but the colour looks better on him). His hair’s gone a bit more wild, sticking up in ways that look incriminating. In ways that look criminal.

Harry shoves one leg in between Louis’, opening up his thighs but trapping him in place with his hips. He moves one hand to undo the fly on Louis’ tattered skinnies, not taking his eyes away from Louis. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, trying to work his arms free so he can anchor himself on Harry’s—something. Maybe his arse. He manages to grab onto one of Harry’s hips and that’s about all he can manage with this leverage. It’ll do.

Working Louis’ zip, Harry leans down to attach his mouth to Louis’ neck, which is morbidly unfair because that’s his weak spot and no one’s supposed to know that. Louis full-on moans, shameless, and grinds against Harry’s leg. “Louder,” Harry whispers directly into Louis’ ear. “Put on a show.”

Louis stutters out a laugh and finally manages to move his other hand, grabbing a hefty bit of Harry’s pert arse. “You want me to perform for you?”

“I think, uh, this is a good chance for both of us to show off a little, actually,” Harry says, and then he has the gall to _back away._ Louis whines, but his whines turn into groans when Harry falls to his knees and pulls at the waistband of Louis’ jeans.

“Fuck.” Louis bangs his head against the wall and closes his eyes. “Reckon you have the right idea.”

Harry pulls down Louis’ jeans and his boxer-briefs just enough to allow Louis’ semi to spring free. Then he grabs Louis by the base and starts pumping, looking up at Louis through his lashes. All innocence and light.

Louis bangs his head agains the wall again, a groan building deep in his throat. He’s somehow lost control of his voice and can’t change the volume so it’s nearly a shout, but it has Harry smiling. Louis’ getting hard very fast, almost embarrassingly so, and it’s fucking _bliss_ when Harry finally lets his tongue dart out to lap up the pre-come collecting at the tip.

He’s a fucking dream.

Harry bobs back and forth for a moment, opening up his jaw carefully as he continues to pump at the base of Louis’ stiff cock. His lips _do_ look beautiful wrapped around the end of Louis’ dick, he wasn’t wrong about that.

So he takes a moment to revel in well-earned shock when Harry’s able to surge forward and take Louis down whole, takes him in so deeply that his nose bumps into Louis’ abdomen. He’s not just a fucking dream, he’s a fucking marvel.

He snakes one hand up behind Louis and deposits it on his arse, pressing down, giving Louis tacit permission to _fuck his mouth,_ so Louis takes that as go. He juts forward experimentally, so that the tip of his cock bumps against the back of Harry’s throat. They both _keen_ at that, Louis more than Harry. Their voices echo in the small room, bouncing off the walls so much that Louis should be embarrassed.

He’s not.

He’s getting his dick sucked by the most beautiful boy he’s met in years. He just played a stellar show. He’s just this side of tipsy. Overall, he’s good.

A hot, searing feeling begins to build in the pit of his stomach, and he lets it ride. He looks down at Harry’s pretty face, at his fluttering lashes and his pinking-up lips. Before he knows what’s happening, Louis is coming, hot and hard down Harry’s willing throat.

It’s climactic and anticlimactic all in one.

His come-down is heady, full of heavy breathing and languid smiles. He pulls Harry to standing, yanking him into a lazy kiss as he fumbles against the button of Harry’s trousers. He’s clumsy but eager, forcing his hand into Harry’s pants without preamble. His cock is hard and so, so wet, leaking in a way that almost makes Louis twitch.

Louis pumps him with two hands, because Harry is _big big big _until he’s hit with a small inspiration. “Fuck my thighs? Yeah?” he murmurs, detaching their bodies so he can turn around to face the wall.__

__“Shit,” Harry breathes, falling onto Louis’ back. He cups Louis’ arse and gently spreads his cheeks, slipping his cock forward a bit. Louis keens again, thrusting backwards to force the issue, and maybe Harry takes the hint, because he presses needily into Louis’ waiting legs._ _

__They move like that for ages, rutting against the wall, sloppy and wanting and whole. Eventually Harry comes, spilling warm against the wall and Louis’ thighs. They both laugh with it, disbelieving, almost, at the release._ _

__For endless moments collected out, they breathe together, orienting themselves in the world. Louis turns around to kiss lightly at Harry’s bitten lips, his pink-pretty mouth. Harry’s hands slip around Louis’ hips, and they stand like that for so long Louis loses track of what day, or night, it is._ _

__And then they hear a knock at the stall door._ _

__Louis’ not entirely embarrassed as they tumble their way out of the toilets, since he’s fresh-fucked, but he gives Niall a chagrined look. Except Niall doesn’t care, because Niall is a romantic in the truest sense, and he’s probably already planned Louis’ wedding to Harry, down to the centerpieces._ _

__But then. Louis latches onto Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers as they make smiling eye contact, and a little bit of him is planning their wedding too._ _

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I wrote this because my girlfriend gave me a BUNCH of new music, and Sleaford Mods reminded me of Louis and his silliness. Sleaford Mods are a post-punk hip-hop band from Nottingham. RIGHT? Louis as a lil punk rocker.
> 
> Please listen to Urine Mate, Fizzy, PPO Kissing Behinds. Those songs inspired me.
> 
> The pretty mouth thing was lifted from Dan Savage's book The Kid. He met his now-husband at a club and used that line. Ha.
> 
> my tumblr: musiclily


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